


The Past Ain't to be Trifled With

by YukiPage27



Category: A Heist With Markiplier, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: A heist with Markiplier - Freeform, Blood and Injury, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt, Other, Slow Burn, Swearing, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2021-01-25 09:17:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21353899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YukiPage27/pseuds/YukiPage27
Summary: Mark calls in a favor, but in the whirlwind of a failed heist, the two of you are locked in prison. While you are left to handle whatever dangers that may come, a familiar face shows up along the way.
Relationships: Mark Fischbach/Reader, Mark Fischbach/You, Markiplier/Reader, Yancy (A Heist With Markiplier)/Reader, Yancy x Reader - Relationship, Yancy/Reader, Yancy/You
Comments: 7
Kudos: 129





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Heyo, it's ya girl, back at it again for the first time since 2018 with another Markiplier Ego fic. I was just compelled to write something with Yancy, he's such a sweet character with great potential. Also, some of the events coincide with AHWM and some don't; I kinda tweak things around as I please. I'm so excited to be back working on a long term project. So, hope you enjoy my second addition to the ego collection: "The Past Ain't to be Trifled With."

The heart monitor beside you beeps steadily, giving you flashbacks to every time you’ve ever been in the hospital. Your vision is hazy as you hunch over in your wooden chair with your hands clutching your head. Tears and snot drip to the linoleum floor, forming a small puddle between your feet. _God damn it_, you think. _God damn him and his crazy-ass plan. I should have never let him talk me into this in the first place. Now look where we are._ You sniff and wipe your face with your forearm, slowly raising your eyes to look at the man laying on the cot, mere inches from you. All manners of tubes protrude from his arms and mouth, his chest rising and falling rhythmically in time to the heart monitor. Your face scrunches up, more tears threatening to fall as you firmly take the man’s hand in both of yours. You manage to choke out a single sentence before the sorrow clogs your throat again, and even then it’s barely a murmur: “I am so sorry, Mark.”

* * *

_Five Hours Earlier_

“Oh I am sooo sorry, Mark.” The sarcasm coats your voice as you harshly whisper. “It’s not my fault I had to drop literally everything and hop on a red-eye to Austin fucking Texas to break into this stupid museum. You can at least give me a little leeway timewise. I am here with you right now, you know. Risking life and limb.” You gesture wildly about with your grappling gun. The pair of you are crouched on a catwalk suspended over a dark cavernous space, moonlight streaming through the hole in the window that Mark had just unceremoniously smashed into. Displays of sculptures dot the floor far below you, surrounded on all sides by equally priceless paintings.

Mark rattles his own grappling gun at you in annoyance. “Hey, you said you’d be here at 2:30 on the dot; now we have to rush the plan even more. And don’t pull that card about risking your life.” He squints at you. “You owe me.”

You sigh. “Yeah, I guess. But after this, we’re even. Got it?”

Mark gives a sharp nod. He shifts his weight, glass crunching under the soles of his feet. His face breaks into a tell-tale smirk that you know oh so well. “This the big one. And if this goes according to plan, we’ll be walking out of here with a prize that will change our lives.” His shit-eating grin gets even bigger. “Just follow my lead and everything will be fine.” He extends his arm to the ceiling and fires a grappling hook.

“Ok, but what are we even stealing?”

“Good luck!” He rockets upward, far out of sight. You grimace, bracing yourself for what’s to come. It was a good thing you did because the next five minutes test the limits of your sanity. They are a blur, from ducking behind pillars to flat out sprinting for your life away from the bumbling guards that litter the museum’s many rooms, all while keeping Mark in your sightline and blindly following his frenzied directions You don’t know how, but before you even have time to form another coherent thought, you’re at the entrance to the vault with key in hand. A cartoonishly massive door stands between you and the sought-for treasure. You lean against the wall and suck in air, out of breath from the ordeal you just went through. “Yeah, I’m never doing this again,” you say in between gasps.

“You won’t have to,” Mark says as he inserts the key into the slot in front of him. You do the same, and he gives the signal. Both of your turn your keys and the heavy door creaks open, revealing a single solitary display case smack dab in the middle of an empty room. Mark hurries forward, gently lifting the glass case and setting it aside. A small, rectangular box covered with intricate gold engravings rests on the pedestal, its sapphire clasp locking who knows what inside.

“That’s it?” you ask as Mark gingerly picks up the box and stuffs it inside his bag. “Tell me it holds the secret to the universe or some shit.”

Mark ignores you, once again digging around in his bag. “Aha!” He pulls out a small timer and a strange-looking package, which you immediately assume is some sort of bomb. He turns to you. “Ok, since you’ve been such a good sport, I’ll let you choose how we get out of here. There’s a sewer directly underneath us that we can get out through, or I can use this little doodad,” he shakes the package, “to blast our way out of here. So what’ll it be?’

“Uh, I don’t…” The distant shouting of guards interrupts your sentence.

Mark’s eyes widen in alarm. “We don’t have time! Choose now!”

“Ok ok ok! The… the bomb! Blast out of here!”

“You got it, partner!” Mark gives you a manic look and chucks the bomb at the back of the vault. You barely hear the beep of his remote before a deafening explosion nearly knocks you off of your feet. Once again, you’re swept up in a whirlwind as you stay two running steps behind Mark, dodging and weaving through exhibits until finally, you find yourself outside. The clear Texas sky is full of stars as you look out over the field adjacent to the museum, as police sirens wail faintly in the distance. Bizarrely enough, a helicopter and a jeep wait like strange animals amongst the grass. “Ok, which one?” Mark shouts as you both continue to run deeper into the clearing.

As if that were even a choice. “Helicopter!” you shout as you sprint toward chopper; now Mark was the one following you for the first time tonight. You’ve always wanted to ride in one of these babies, and what better occasion would you have than running from the cops? Yanking open the door, you settle into the cockpit as Mark climbs in after you. The sirens get louder, heightening your anxiety. “Come on, come on, come on, come on.” You frantically pull Mark into the helicopter.

“Wait.” He freezes and looks at you. “Don’t you know how to fly?”

“No! I thought _you_ did!”

“I don’t!” he practically screeches.

“Why would you even give me the option then?!” Your squabbling is interrupted by a bright searchlight beaming down, nearly blinding the both of you. You can see Mark’s face clearly, full of dread, and shouts ring out from all around you. You give him an equally despairing look. “Fuck.”

Fuck, indeed. The justice system moves swiftly in Texas, and within a matter of hours, the pair of you are charged and sentenced to an indiscernible amount of time in prison. “This can’t be legal,” you mutter as you and Mark shuffle through the fluorescently lit halls of your new home, dressed in the striped garbs that prisoners are wont to wear. “What the hell even is this state?”

Mark nudges you. “Don’t worry about a thing. I got it aaall figured out.” You arrive in the mess hall, a depressing sight to see. Uncomfortable looking chairs circle wobbly tables, giving you a sort of school cafeteria form hell kind of vibe. What makes it worse are the people milling about; every face looks well worn and hardened by life, and not a few look cruel. Some mildly curious glances turn your way, but otherwise, they mostly ignore you. “Alright so here’s what we do,” Mark turns. “We gotta rally the prisoners in whatever way we can, and convince them to help us break out. It’s foolproof!”

“Shh shh shh, lower your voice,” you hissed. “You really think we’re going to be able to do that? I mean…” You look around dubiously, scooting closer to Mark. “They’re all… criminals.”

“Well in case you haven’t noticed, we’re criminals too. Now, are you going to follow my lead or what?”

You rub your face in exasperation. “Fine, fine. You’re doing the talking though.”

He gives you a cheeky wink. “That’s what I’m best at.” He scans the room, then his eyes settle on a particular prisoner.“He’ll do,” Mark quips as he confidently walks toward him. An uneasy feeling settles in the pit of your stomach as you tentatively follow. The prisoner is the last person you’d pick. A burly, bearded guy with arms the size of freshly cut timber and a spider web tattoo covering his head accompanied by a scowl that could curdle milk; this convict just reeks menace. And wet socks. “Hey you! Yeah, you! I think _you_ need to show more respect for _me._ That look you’re giving us? Not going to fly, buddy.” The towering criminal looks down at him, anger contorting his face.

You yank Mark’s sleeve. “This isn’t a good idea,” you say through clenched teeth. “Let’s get out of here, man.”

Mark totally ignores you. “I’m talking to you here! You need to help us break out of here.” He wags his finger at the prisoner. You gulp, seriously doubting Mark’s self-preservation will at this moment as you attempt to pull him away. It’s too late, however. With a roar, the convict snaps, sucker-punching Mark in the stomach. The force of the blow sends him flying backward, straight into a wall. He hits his head against the concrete with a sickening smack and collapses motionless on the floor.

“Oh, God.” You race forward and kneel down next to him. “Mark! Are you ok?” you ask frantically. You get no response. A small trickle of blood begins to flow out from the back of his head, and he doesn’t seem to be breathing. Panic sets in and your own blood rushes in your ears. You shakily place two fingers on his neck, searching for any sign of a pulse.

A strange voice croons from just behind you, clashing with your own desperation. “Break out? Of this place?” You finally find a heartbeat, though it’s not very strong and getting weaker by the second. “Huh, why would anyone wanna break ou-”

“Medic!” you scream, cutting him off. “Somebody get a doctor over here! Please!” You whip your head around, looking for someone, anyone, to help. A guard, who was already shooing other prisoners away, notices the blood slowly pooling around Mark’s head. She speaks quickly into her radio and within moments two nurses clad in white rush in with a stretcher. They carefully lift Mark onto it, and speed walk back the way they came. “Move!” you shout, shoving past the person who had spoken only moments ago. You barely notice him as you trail behind the medics, hot on their heels, through the double doors and out of sight.

The prisoner in question stands dumbstruck. Apparently forgoing the normal striped shirt, he is wearing merely a t-shirt and striped pants, a pack of smokes snugly rolled up in one of the sleeves of his shirt; his dark hair is slicked back with an ungodly amount of grease. He had caught a glimpse of your face as you pushed him aside. Only a glimpse, but it flashed a spark of recognition in him all the same. He blinked once, twice, then three times before slowly treading in your wake as he tried to work out the puzzle in his head of who exactly the fuck you are and why you’re in his goddamn prison.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prisoner finally catches up with you in the infirmary, and you get an unexpected surprise.

A shout rings out from one of the jails. “Hey! Did you see what happened to that new guy? What a piece of work, eh?” The suave prisoner cordially waves in response to Bam Bam calling out as he passes, giving him his signature warm smile. He continues sauntering down the hallway through the rows of jails as if he owns the place. In fact, he practically does. This particular prisoner prides himself on being a pretty personable guy. Sure, he has a few anger issues, but no one in the in Happy Trails Penitentiary seems to mind; in fact, they all love and respect him, from the inmates to even Merder-Sl ôder himself, though the warden would be hard pressed to admit it. He’s been in Happy Trails longer than anyone except the warden, and knows every nook and cranny the facility had to hide. No one comes in or out without him noticing. The world is his prison and the prison, his world. That’s why, when he had heard new prisoners were going to be brought to the penitentiary, he prepared to roll out the welcome wagon, as he did for every fresh inmate. They would be invited to join the prison family, to live the good life side by side as equals with every other scumbag in the penitentiary. How was he supposed to know one of them would act like a dumbass and piss off Jimmy the Pickle before he was able to get a single word in?

It wasn’t the douchebag who got himself knocked into a wall that is on his mind, however, as he makes his way to the prison’s infirmary. No, it’s the dunbass’s companion. They had looked so incredibly familiar that it caused him to reconsider going to see them in the first place. What if they are someone who knew him before the inciden...ces? He had messed around a bit, shot some hoops with Tiny to try to distract himself. His curiosity was too strong however, an itch that kept nagging at the back of his mind until he at last made his way to the infirmary almost an hour later. Before he even opens the door, he can hear the beep of a heart monitor and soft sobbing. The prisoner almost chickens out again, but his internal voice reminds himself that he’s no baby to be coddled. He steels himself and throws wide the double doors.

Tears streaming down your face with Mark’s hand tightly grasped, you hear the doors open behind you. You whip your head around quickly, thinking its the doctor, but when you see striped clothes, your face sags. “Do me a favor and leave us alone will you?” You mutter as you adjust in your seat, turning back to Mark’s unmoving figure. The prisoner does the exact opposite of what you say, stepping even closer to you.

“Hey,” he pokes you in the back. “I’ve got a question to ask you.” When he gets no response, he squints at you in annoyance. “Hey. Hey. Hey, I’m talking to youse. Hey.” He punctuates each “hey” with another poke.

“What?!” you finally snap angrily, facing him once again. 

The same feeling of recognition comes over him, so strong he can almost taste it. “Do I know you from somewhere?” he demands irritatedly, nearly fed up with this whole endeavor.

You finally take a good look at him frowning at you. The pompadour on his head practically shines with pomade and his jawline is rugged with the smattering of a beard, faded neck and arm tattoos in stand out as he crosses his arms defiantly. You narrow your eyes at him, about to deny him outright, but you finally settle on his eyes and mouth, squinting and scowling harshly. A switch seems to flip in your head and you know exactly who he is. Your mouth drops open of its own accord and you mutely stare at the prisoner in shock for a few seconds before finally blurting out, “...Yancy?”

Yancy starts, the sound of you saying his name causing the puzzle piece to slide into place in his brain, and instantly wave after wave of memories wash over him. He’s suddenly fifteen again and leaning against the door frame of his shitty apartment that smells of cat pee and cigarettes. A fifteen-year-old you, hair longer, face round with youth, stands at the end of the sidewalk. Your hands are shoved in your jacket pockets as you awkwardly shift from side to side. “I’m moving, Yance,” you say. “Tomorrow. My folks are already packing up.”

Yancy glares back at you. “Yeah? And why are youse telling me this, huh?”

You wince. “I don’t know, I thought you would want to kno-”

“Well I don’t! So why don’t youse just get outta here?” Yancy barks. He can see pain overtake your expression and the tears welling in your eyes; it’s the same hurt that churns in the pit of his stomach, but he only lets his anger reach his face..

You sniff, then quickly turn to walk away. “Bye, Yancy,” you say without looking at him, then scurry down the sidewalk. Unmoving, he watches you scrubbing your face with your jacket sleeves as you go, torn between staying put and calling out for you stop. But before he can make up his mind, it’s too late. You’re gone, and he’s left alone.

Yancy is yanked from his recollection back to the present by the screeching of your chair being pushed back as you stand up to get a closer look. He involuntary takes a step back, then sheepishly rubs his neck, avoiding eye contact. “It is you!” you exclaim. “Oh my God.” You cover your mouth in disbelief. “I can’t believe it.”

“Yeah, it’s me, ha…” he trails off, extremely uncomfortable and, for once, at a loss for words.

You don’t quite know how to feel. Different emotions flow through you like water: surprise, happiness, confusion, stale traces of anger, regret, and deeply buried pain. You try to ground yourself, focusing on the present and dealing with your feelings later. “I… what are you doing here, Yance?” The nickname just slips out your mouth of its own accord.

Yancy laughs nervously, trying to regain his composure. “You know. Got myself into some trouble a while back, so I landed here. Been here for a long time now. But what about you? You were s’pposed to be the good one.”

You glance back at Mark. “Well, I also got myself into some trouble. We stole a box; hell, I don’t even know what was in it. I guess it doesn’t really matter anymore.” You flop back down in your chair, exhausted and emotionally drained.

Yancy pulls up a chair and sits beside you. “Who’s this joker then, huh? Your boyfriend?”

You chuckled sadly. “Nope. Just an asshole who happens to be my friend. His name is Mark. He’s honestly the reason I’m here in the first place. I just…” Your face contorts as you try to hold back a whimper. “I just want him to be ok,” you say huskily.

Yancy opens his mouth as if to say something, but the door opens once again; this time the person you had been waiting for, the doctor, comes in. “Hi, I’m Dr. Hill. The results have his tests have come in.” You wait with baited breath as she shuffles through her notes. She finds the right page, then looks up at you with sympathy. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but he’s in a trauma-induced coma. His condition is stable, but from the CT scans we took, the head injury is pretty severe; we don’t know when, or if, he’ll come out of it.”

Your heart sinks.”No… this can’t be happening.” You look pleadingly at the doctor. “Can’t you transfer him to a real hospital to get another diagnosis?”

“This penitentiary is self-sustaining, complete with a government certified medical ward capable of providing the best care possible. We are planning on shipping top of the line medications in to try to bring him out of the coma, but for now it's just a waiting game.” 

You grip Mark’s hand, pressing your forehead against it. “Oh God, no. Please, please let this not be happening.” You feel as if your soul is shriveling and dying within you.

The door opens for a third time and two of the prison guards step in. “Unfortunately,” the doctor continues, “your visiting period is up. You two will have to go back to your cells for lights out in a few minutes.”

Her words fall on deaf ears; you can hardly hear anything through the blood rushing in your own ears. The guards, seeing your blatant refusal to comply, stride forward to haul you away.

“Hold on, hold on, that’s not necessary,” Yancy says. He moves between you and Mark, trying to pull your hand off of him as gently has he can. “C’mon. We gotta go. You can come back here to visit him another time.” He succeeds in detaching you from Mark, and leads you out of the infirmary. You let him tug you through the hallways, shuffling like a sleepwalker.

Yancy deposits you at your cell, and as the guards unlock it, you murmur, “He was all that I had left.”

Yancy’s turns back, brows furrowed. “Well, you have me too,” he replies. He doesn’t know what possessed him to say that; he hasn’t seen you in over fifteen years, and you weren’t like him. You didn’t know the bad things he had done. But despite all that, at this moment, he feels the sentiment bruning in every fibre of his being.

You turn to face him with haunted, grief-stricken eyes. “I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out my tumblr at [yukipage.tumblr.com](https://yukipage.tumblr.com/)!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prisoner finally catches up with you in the infirmary, and you get an unexpected surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy fuck I thought I posted this chapter and the next when I wrote them like 7 months ago. I've gone through a lot of shit since then and i don't know if I'll be continuing this fic. We'll see how I feel after I finish this semester. Still love Yancy tho. Kisses and thanks for reading

Author's note: so for some fucking reason Ao3 decided to copy my second chapter and save it as three seperate drafts for chapters 3, 4, and 5. I thought I had forgotten to post it but turns out i never wrote it. Sorry about that :/ Like i said, still don't know if I'm going to finish this. Real depressed rn and school is choking the life out of me. Whatever. We'll see. I have a clear idea of what I want this to be but I don't know if i can do the work right now. Hope all of you are safe and healthy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out my tumblr at [yukipage.tumblr.com](https://yukipage.tumblr.com/)!


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